Muse
by AGENT Kuma-chan
Summary: For Annie. KibaSaku. Nothing is for free--there is always a certain price to pay for everything. Kiba finds out his and finds it a little too high.


**For:** Annie—Sorry for it being so late. I was going to post this earlier, but I didn't get to properly end it until a few weeks ago. Then came exams…X.X

Oh, and ignore the lame title. I was never good at those.

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_Talent must be a fanatical mistress. She's beautiful; when you're with her, people watch you, they notice. But she bangs on your door at odd hours, and she disappears for long stretches, and she has no patience for the rest of your existence: your wife, your children, your friends. She is the most thrilling evening of your week, but some day she will leave you for good. One night, after she's been gone for years, you will see her on the arm of a younger man, and she will pretend not to recognize you._

--**City of Thieves** by David Benioff

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_The Muse_

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Amid a sea of strangers, she stood out like a jutted rock. Her bright hair clashed with the browns and blacks surrounding her, a small beacon of light that caught his eye immediately. Kiba almost considered going up to her but he was already late for his date, a pretty model who he didn't want to miss.

As he passed her, he noticed she seemed to be looking for someone. She'd glance at people, old men, hassled mothers, excited children, looking at each briefly before turning to the next person. When she finally turned to see him, just as he was about to cross the street, he could finally see her leaf-green eyes.

It was only for a moment that he saw them, but they instantly lit up and she tried to make her way to him. Then the signal changed and the tide swallowed her and it was almost like she was never there.

-x-

"A nice party, eh?" one of the magazine's photographer's said to him. "Pretty good for a charity ball."

"Very nice," Kiba replied, giving a wolfish grin when one of the dancing girls glanced his way. This magazine always sent him to the best parties and as he winked at another girl, he wondered how many he could snag a number from.

"That one's cute. And she's coming towards us."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kiba saw a flash of pink and turned to see the girl the photographer was pointing at. Surrounded by swirling flowers, she was a sparrow flitting around them. None of them caught her interest and he realized she was intent on coming to him.

"I found you," she stated simply when she finally arrived. She was the same girl from the street corner, he realized. Other than that, he couldn't remember seeing her before.

"Swept you off your feet, did I?"

"Not yet. I've just been looking for you for a while now, every since that day."

That stopped him and he searched his memory once more. "I'd remember someone as—"

She interrupted him, shaking her head. "Oh, we haven't formally met yet. I'm your muse, Sakura." Her tone was serious, no jokes in her actions at all. If she was teasing him, she needed more practice.

No matter, he'd play along. He was nothing if not always ready for a game.

"You inspire me already."

-x-

He flipped the napkin in his hand, staring at the red words scrawled across them. She had messy writing; he could barely read them. Instead her words echoed in his head.

There were other girls he dated; ones that made her seem washed out in comparison. Yet it was her bright eyes, those eyes that locked on him that first time that made all the difference.

"Did you get all the shots?" the photographer, Kiba could never remember his name, asked. "I managed to get some from the balacony."

"Hmm?" Kiba glanced at his camera, noticing the few shots he took. He might end up eating noodles again this week. "Some."

"Good—I'm new at this. Who was that chick?"

"Her?" Kiba grinned, holding up the napkin. "My date next Thursday."

"Really?" He gaped at Kiba. "Wow, you're fast."

"You don't know just how fast," Kiba chuckled as he started to fold a bunch of napkins together.

-x-

The straw sucked the air noisily, greedily taking in whatever it could to make up for the lack of drink. "I'm done…" she sighed, waving over another waiter. "More, please."

"You can really drink," Kiba marveled. It was her fourteenth drink and she didn't even look the slightest bit drunk.

"Yeah, it comes with never getting drunk. Hey, Kiba, I just realized I never gave you my name. I'm Sakura." He never told her his name either and that startled him. Maybe she had been eyeing him for a while now.

"It suits you. Not as much as that dress does, though." It was true, with her sleeveless, slightly ruffled dark green dress and pearl necklace. It clung to her, tightly and seductively. She made a pretty picture, one that he didn't mind drinking in.

"You don't look too bad yourself." She appraised him with her eyes and he smirked in return. Time to turn the charm up a notch. "I've wanted to ask you this for a while now—do you want me to stay with you? Some of my clients said my 'musing' power helps them better that way."

He laughed. She kept up the ruse.

In response, she grimaced, the clouds chasing the sun away. "I should have expected that. That's the problem with humans these days. They don't believe like they used to. I remember a time when even the faintest utterance of my name created festivals in my honour."

Sakura honestly thought she was a muse. He almost laughed again but stopped himself just in time. "Festivals? I could show you something much better than that."

"Maybe later," she said, turning down his offer. "I guess you still don't believe me yet. No matter, you'll do." She got up without another word, the wine in her glass spinning gently as she swirled it absent-mindedly. Taking a long sip, he could see her long throat, a pale backdrop to the sparkling jewels, and his fingers itched for paper.

-x-

"You had some good ones this time," the magazine editor told him when Kiba entered the office. The blinds gave him a filtered view of the world, with its tiny figurines scurrying about. Turning his eyes away from the busy scene, he glanced at the pictures that were spread out on the table.

They weren't that bad. Not his best work, but better than what he expected considering how much effort he put into them.

"How much?" If he's lucky, he might have enough to last till his next job.

The editor purses his lips, eyes grazing over each picture like a delectable meal. "We'll be using this one," he points at an image, "this one and that. They're better than our new staff, so they'll be the main images. How about a hundred dollars a piece?"

Time to get the most cash possible. "Four hundred," he bargains.

"Too much. Two hundred?"

"Three fifty."

"…two fifty."

"Three twenty."

"…"

"…"

"Three hundred?"

"Fine."

Kiba grinned as he grabbed the check.

-x-

He wasn't quite sure why he agreed to another date; he didn't do crazy. Yet, she was childish with her beliefs on muses and her rough giggles, so he couldn't resist another date.

"Wow, it's been so long since I've gone to a fair," Sakura exclaims, glancing around at the rides. There was a giant octopus lifting people up to dizzying heights before letting them down and a disk that spun so fast that your teeth chattered. "They've changed it a lot, though. More rides than actual fair."

"Makes it more fun." He preferred fast rides himself. It was more exciting, with the wind trying to grab you away from gravity's pull. He never liked being earthbound.

"Really?" She didn't wait for an answer, pushing past the crowds to a less crowded ride. "This is actually my favourite."

Kiba turned to face the brightly painted horses with gold trims, waiting for the next princess and prince to jump on. They were set to leap off the stage, to come alive and trot royally through the streets. "A carousal?"

"Yeah." Sakura smiled as the little kids clamored to get on. "I love these things. Rollercoasters and the like bore me."

"Why? Not fast enough for you?" He felt like making a lewd comment to go with that but stopped himself.

"Nah, it's just…after I go on them once, they don't interest me as much. I just like that first plunge. Carousals, though, they are very calming. They remind me of the river nymphs I used to play with as a child."

"We should go swimming sometime, then. For memories sake." That and he wouldn't mind seeing her in a bikini.

"Next time. Now, let's get on the next one. You might like it."

"I doubt it," he replied but he went on anyways.

-x-

"We'll give you five hundred for this article," a representative from a newspaper told him three days later. Kiba stood in the small closet-sized office, his tie hanging loosely around his shoulders.

That much without any bargaining at all. They must be getting desperate or something.

"Nine hundred." He wondered how far he could press his luck.

The representative grimaced, glancing at his papers to see how far he was allowed to go. "…fine. We'll give you that much."

Kiba stared in surprise, except he didn't do surprise so instead he gave a cocky smirk. Odd that they wanted his article that much.

-x-

He found himself writing more often, spending time thinking it though and actually considering the words he penned. They flowed more easily, an ink river, and he never had a drought. It was odd and he never had such a sensation.

It wasn't due to any 'muse' powers she claimed to have. If she inspired him in any way, it was because she was an exotic creature. She was new and exciting and for the moment, she captivated him.

-x-

"A pool?" She looked at the building in front of her, the grey, concrete mouth gaping and frowned. "It looks kind of…creepy. And…are you sure about this?"

She looked at him, uncertainty covering her face for the first time, and he relished this power he had. Relished it for a moment and then gave her a comforting grin.

(He could never let a girl stay nervous for long. It went against some sort of code.)

"Yeah, it looks better on the inside. There are actually plants and trees in there, even sand. It's too cold to go out to the beach, but to go into one…" He trailed off purposely and glanced at her again to see her still look nervous. She followed him anyway, through the twisted metal art and past the steel bars.

"It's old," she commented, hesitantly touching the walls. "Yeah, it's old."

"You can tell by touching?"

"Yeah…and…" she paused, looking through a window. "Is that the pool?"

He leaned over her small frame, looking down to see the snow white sand and crystalline water. "Yes."

Before he noticed it, she moved past him swiftly and he was leaning over empty air, still feeling the edges of her shoulders.

When she changed, he was disappointed to see her in a one piece. Disappointed, but considering how well it fit her, he was willing to give it a chance. Catching her staring at him, he smirked. "Like what you see?"

"Hmm?" She blinked and he realized she wasn't looking at him but at the pool. "Well…" She gave him a once-over and shrugged her shoulders. Walking forward, she pressed slim fingers on his chest, spider-web trails over his muscles. "Mmm…not bad."

"Of course not." When she let go of him, he could still feel the soft touches ghosting over his skin.

She stared at the pool once more before heading purposely towards it.

"No nymphs, I'm afraid," he told her once he caught up to her. "I couldn't find any with so little time."

"There aren't very many any more." For a moment, she aged visibly. Elephant-like wrinkles appeared on her skin, her pale skin graying as her hair did. Even her eyes turned darker, still standing out on the ashen face. "They're all gone now." She smiled softly after that, her features returning to what he knew, and he could have imagined the change.

Maybe he did. Either way, that image haunted him, the sorrow etched in her skin so deeply that it could have been a tattoo.

-x-

"I got it?" He stared at the letter once more, along with the contract beside it. "I actually got it?"

She glanced at the sheets. "Got what?"

"The contract." The rare contract that _As the Oak Grows_ gave each year. That newspaper/magazine company gave about five of them each year to free-lancers that interest them and he finally got one of them.

He never expected that. While his work had been good, it had never been good enough to earn a spot here. And now…

Kiba looked down to Sakura, who was looking through the contract curiously. He still didn't believe it fully, but…it was possible. She could be a muse. His jobs had certainly picked up since she came around.

She caught his stare and flashed him a smile.

-x-

"It didn't take you have as long as I expected. Congratulations!" She clapped him on the shoulder, which hurt more than he expected. Drinking another glass of champagne, she eyed him over her cup. "Now I guess my job will be easier."

"Do you date all of your clients? Or was it just too hard to resist me?" He grinned at her. She never blushed as much as he wanted but the delicate brush of pink on her cheeks was still something.

"Actually," she contemplated, "It might have been Akamaru, yesterday. He's adorable."

Well, dogs always worked with the ladies. Muses weren't all that different—still a female, after all. "Can't keep him in my apartment so he usually stays at my sister's. Care to meet him again?"

"Of course! And don't take me seriously—you're handsome…or was it 'hot'?" She paused, sipping slowly and he watched her twirl a strand of her hair. It coiled and uncoiled, a spring that couldn't jump. "I think that's how you say it." Sakura looked at him for approval.

"So that's how you see me. Hmm…good choice of words."

"…to answer your question, you're not the only one I've been with. Sometimes it was with my clients and other times with their friends."

"Should I just lock you away, then? Keep you all to myself?"

"Don't worry," her eyes gleam and her attention is on completely on him. "You're all I can see right now."

-x-

She ends up living with him.

"It's more convenient this way," Sakura told him.

Kiba gave her a knowing smile. "Just keep saying that."

At first, it was hard to think that she lived with him. She didn't eat as much as he expected, seeming to live off ideas and dreams more than actual food. When she didn't talk to him, the house seemed to quiet, a morgue for sound, and when she did it splintered in his ears.

"Sorry, I'm adjusting myself to the house." She gave him an apologetic smile before kissing him on the cheek.

"It's already better." He pulled her back to him for a kiss on the lips and already it was improving.

-x-

"So, what does a muse do when she's not making me happy?" He watched as she flipped another page in a book she was reading, not peeling her eyes off the musty paper as she spoke.

"You don't read these very often, do you?"

"Never got around to it." It wasn't that he hated books; it was just that he never got the time to read them. They'd collect in a corner, dust floating and settling on it slowly over time, until he would get a rare urge to clean.

"I sometimes sleep. I take long naps, decades long sometimes. Other times I play with which ever muse is available or with the few nymphs or fawns left. It's hard to find them these days."

Writing a little—just hearing her voice makes his fingers tingle and splash the world with words, he asked, "Why? Who'd leave _you_ alone?"

"There used to be thousands of them. Now, as people stopped revering them and worshiping them, most of them turned into the very thing they represent. The river nymphs are now parts of the river, the tree nymphs are trees, and all of this is unchangeable. None of them really remember who they were, who they are."

"…"

"Anyways, I also find my clients, like you."

Finally, it was something he could speak about. "What made me so special? Or do you pick any hot guy off the street?"

"Of course not!" she snorted. "If only it were that easy. We can't let just any poor boy dreaming of the stars actually touch them. No, we're picky. There was just something about you that clicked."

-x-

"What are you planning on writing, a book?" Pages upon pages filed out of the printer, landing on top of each other with a silent whoosh. Sakura glanced at him inquisitively.

"Muse or no muse, I doubt I could write that much." He started to sort the papers. "No, these are just articles I have to finish for the company."

"_As the Oak Grows_?They have a silly name. They should use some other plant; I hate oaks." She frowned to herself.

"Why?"

"…I fell out of one as a child," she reluctantly admitted, flushing out of embarrassment.

He cocked an eyebrow, laughing quietly at her explanation. "A vendetta over that? Should I go fight the tree, to make it all better?"

"Hey, that tree hated me!" She bristled, a porcupine in danger, and he just narrowly dodged her pointed barbs. "I picked an acorn too early and from then on, the nymph that lived in it hated me."

"And you didn't do anything else to it?"

"…well…"

"I thought so."

-x-

Sometimes, he would stay awake long after she fell asleep. He just wasn't that tired, he reasoned. That and the night world gave him a different image of her. A darker, more fragile view. She was a bud that opened during the night, flashing for a short time a colour no one else had ever seen.

(He'd think about himself then. Somehow, he was more poetic than usual. The world displayed itself differently to him. It was strange and while he wouldn't have liked it before, it was hard to image the world as anything but this now. )

Then she'd shift in his arm, the shadows playing with her hair and arms, transforming her into someone else entirely. He'd watch, fascinated, by the thousands of alter egos she'd turn into. She was dazzling and breathtaking and she was all his.

(It was harder still to image a world without her. Since when did he get so hung up over one girl? Maybe it was her powers that did that.)

The moon painted pictures on her skin, telling him of stories long ago and that was his lullaby.

-x-

"I've never had a home," she said wistfully when they leave his sister's house after dinner. "I never got to."

"Why?"

"Well, I suppose I do have a home in a sense. It's just that muses are not always there. It's empty, more often than not. Some end up sleeping again and others are scouring the world. We're never usually together. I've always wanted to have one. A home base that's never quiet or lonely."

"…I'll give you one," he said, half jokingly, the other half something he couldn't recognize.

She paused, her footsteps coming to a halt, and then chuckled lightly. "Thanks for the offer."

The half he couldn't recognize crumbles a little at her doubt.

-x-

Every morning, he would wake up to the sound of her feet tapping. There would be music, muted and soft from the radio, and she would be humming. She danced in the kitchen usually, danced as she welcomed the day and bid farewell to the night.

It wasn't always the same music. It could be rap or hip-hop, heavy metal or country. Her favourite was classical. It wasn't the best dancing in the world but it screamed of her. The few plants she grew swayed alongside her and seemed to grow a little faster than most. Even the sunbeams would follow her and make a pattern.

-x-

"You've changed me." She opened her eyes slightly, turning to face him from the couch she was napping on. He hated those naps—she would take one nearly everyday and there was an uncomfortable air that overtook his lungs. He would breathe it in, choke on it a little, and then gasp it out.

(What if she fell asleep and didn't wake up? He was no prince but she was Sleeping Beauty.)

"I thought that was what everyone did." She blinks slowly, languidly, as though she had all the time in the world and he watched her lamp-like eyes slowly close and open. A mirror and he caught his reflection.

"You changed me differently." He wasn't sure why he was saying this. "I don't think the way I used to."

"Really?" She stared at him pointedly.

"Well," he concedes, "I think the same way. I just…I use a lot of metaphors now. I can't look at something and just see it for what it is anymore."

"…Or are you finally seeing something for what it actually is?"

He couldn't answer that.

-x-

"What other clients have you had?" She never talked about them, almost to the point where they didn't exist.

"A lot." She pulled a hat from a drawer. "See this?"

"My favourite." It was a deep black with tints of blue on it. "This came from one of my favourite pairs of clients. They were two friends, almost brothers, and I stayed with them for about three years. They were just hilarious. I loved them both."

"Not as much as you love me."

"Of course. How could I ever love _anyone_ as much as I love _you_?" She chuckled. "They were so good, in fact, that they became muses themselves."

"Is that even possible?"

"Well, usually no. But some clients, they are inspiring enough to become a muse. Good thing too—we don't have many 'male' muses. At least, among our new recruits as there were no guys among as originally."

"Running out of muse power or something?

"No, it's just that we don't have enough muses for our clients." She patted the hat fondly. "This was one of the first gifts I got and I can never get rid of it." There was a look on her face, distant and reminiscent, and he wondered if he'll ever get a look like that when she thought of him.

-x-

"I want to go dancing."

She looked up from where she was eating as he took off his apron. Surprisingly, Sakura was a terrible cook and while he wasn't the best either, Kiba was still a lot better than her.

"At a club."

"A club? I haven't been to one in years. Have they changed much?"

He smiled almost predatorily. "Not too much."

-x-

"You lied." She tugged at her clothes. "I wish these were longer. Just a little. They are so…revealing."

"I thought you'd like revealing."

"Yeah, but not this short. I mean, my hands go further down my legs than the skirt does. There is barely any material in the shirt."

"I think it looks fine. Amazing in fact. You should wear it more."

"…I hate you." She frowned, trying to ignore the whistles coming at her. "When will we get there?"

"Soon. Not tired, are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Good," he said as they turned another corner. "We're here."

"If I'm the only one wearing these things, I'm going to kill you. Client or no client."

"Oh, there will be plenty of ladies dressed just like you," he said, pecking her on the cheek.

They entered, without any problems, and he didn't miss how her eyes lit up as the wall of music hit her. Lights flew everywhere, bathing people for just a moment in colours before choosing someone else to go to. The sounds were loud and heavy, a deep thudding noise that mirrored their heartbeats, and Sakura ran into the crowd almost immediately. They accepted her, seeing another of their own. It was all he could do to catch up to her.

She would dance with someone before switching to another. Always moving, she didn't notice the scent of sweat and perfume that enveloped her. She'd dance around him in shapes, ones without names or forms. A laugh, a toss of hair, a hand flip, and then he'd find her already moved on.

She turned to face him once, while she was dancing. There was an eager smile on her face, a glow that matched the light that hit her, and he never wanted to take a picture as badly as he did then.

-x-

They live like this for a year that spans an eternity. She wasn't always in the apartment, sometimes disappearing for hours but always coming back.

He started to forget she was a muse and when she reminded him, two years after they first met, there was an eclipse and gravity overturned itself.

-x-

She was going to leave soon. He could tell. His sister did the same thing once, when she was about to leave the country for a scholarship abroad. She would take her dog to the park or just to a room in the family, sit down, and stare. _Memorizing_ she told him when he asked. _I'm memorizing._

Sakura was doing the same thing, staring at the rooms and fitting them into the spaces in her mind. She would feel things, copying their curves and textures into her memory so that she could pull them out again and again once she left.

He never mentioned his thoughts. It hung there, a guillotine, and he didn't want to turn it on yet.

His articles grew more melancholy.

-x-

It was tense in the apartment. He kept waiting for something that was bound to happen and she kept delaying it. Cat and mouse, he wasn't sure when to poke his head out of the hole.

It killed him. Slowly, bit by bit, it killed him.

Finally, he snapped.

-x-

"You're drunk," she chastised him when he entered the apartment.

Kiba wasn't just one kind of drunk. He was an extremely honest, brash drunk sometimes or a tired, dead drunk, and today he was the former.

"Whhhaaat do youuuu ca-hic-re?" There was haze through which he saw the world, a haze that shielded him from any repercussions. "Yo-your…You're leavin anyways."

"…so you noticed. I was hoping that…never mind. It's true, I'm leaving soon."

"…why?" He yelled the question, threw it at her feet for her to see.

"I have to."

He tasted her words, tasted them and sent them back to her, hating the flavour. "Yoouu don't!"

"Ohh, but I do." She put a finger to his lips, stopping his voice. "You don't see it now, no one ever really does. I…" Her eyes shone and he could see the tears in them, smell the saltiness of it. "I think I liked you a lot. A lot more than my other ones. You're one of my most favourite ones."

He never kissed a girl goodbye but that was what happened when she kissed him. Her touches, her lingering fingers that scraped his skin as he lost himself inside her, they were harder than usual. As though she was trying to keep this memory too, as though she was trying to not let him forget her either.

When he woke up the next morning, it was to a hangover and an empty bed.

-x-

She told him once that muses didn't stay long with their clients. A few years and then poof, they'd disappear, almost like they weren't there. Only, she once was and his apartment ached with her absence. It was a wound that festered and festered but he could do nothing about it.

The bed was a little bigger and colder, there were no more patterns in the world. This probably meant he wouldn't become a muse, he thought wryly as he couldn't keep doing what she did for him.

He wouldn't say he was in a trance, where he lost track of time. The world still moved and he went with it, drinking every Saturday and picking numbers every now and then. He just didn't do it half as much or as energetically.

"Hey Kiba." An editor yelled out to him as he was leaving. "Your work isn't as amazing anymore. Not bad but where is all that talent you showed recently?"

"It's good—that's all that matters, right?" He tried to laugh and it sounded hollow, an empty cup. He wasn't quite sure if it would be full again.

"…you don't seem the same, Kiba." The editor peered at his face, trying to guess his ailment. "Why don't you take a week or so off."

When he looked at the check, Kiba wasn't surprised to see twice what they bargained for.

-x-

He slept a lot, ignoring the stories the moon tried to feed him. On stuffy afternoons he'd go take a walk in the park, rest under the shade as kids screamed around him. At night, he'd eat with his sister and take Akamaru out for a walk.

Usual things that no longer held any meaning for him.

"Are you lost, mate?" a man asked him when Kiba bumped into him.

"More than you ever know."

-x-

"There are other fish in the sea," one of the junior photographers told him after assuming it was a normal break-up. "You just have to move on."

"…" Kiba gulped down a glass, asked for another one, and repeated the motion. "Of course there are. There are always other fish."

"See? Now, see those ladies down there?" The photographer pointed at a corner. "What do you think about getting their numbers? I claim the brunette."

"…go ahead," Kiba urged, feeling light-headed. "I'll be right after you."

"Good idea. Best to not let them see both of us together—I might get the blonde instead. Or the blackie." Waving goodbye, the photographer went first.

Kiba walked out of the bar.

-x-

He hadn't quite moved on after the first few weeks, but he had reached the point where it didn't hurt half as much when he returned to an empty apartment. If she came back, he wouldn't complain but as she wasn't, he could survive.

(Or he would try to at least.)

Besides, he wasn't one to get so hung up after one girl, right?

Except, he was. He was and he didn't know what to do. He let her go and he couldn't have her back.

-x-

He missed her.

-x-

He didn't touch her drawers. There was something that always came up, something that let him avoid touching them and destroying the place she last touched. Kiba also avoided that side of the room. Her scent lingered there even though she was long gone, and he could imagine her still using them that way.

During his holiday, though, he didn't have anything to stop him. He could no longer put it off and it was with a heavy heart that he got a bag to put her old clothes in.

He started with the first drawer and opened it.

-x-

Kiba lived. He breathed, ate, slept. He danced, flirted, all with the air of a man who had everything to gain and nothing to lose. It was almost as though he had never left in the first place. Lunches were crowded with dates and nights were filled with fine dining. Who said he couldn't have some fun while he waited?

("Hey, his work has improved again," a photographer commented. "At this rate, he might as well be joining some place full time."

"Nah, he doesn't like to be tied down like that. Besides, how else can he go to all these places?" The editor chuckled as he put the papers together. "Now, I need to run this down to the printing area.")

He was once again on top of the world.

-x-

"Hey, Kiba," the writer across from him asked, her dark brown eyes flicking to his head. "That's a cool hat you have. Where'd you get it from?"

"An old friend. She doesn't go anywhere without it but she left it lying around." He smiled, tipping the black hat down.

"Shouldn't you return it to her then?"

"She went on a trip and when she comes _home_, she'll come and get it." Waving a waiter over, he continued, "I doubt you want to hear the story. Now, mademoiselle, what would you like to have?"

…

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…

…

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End file.
